Nothing Grows In The Shade
by RemainSimple
Summary: Phoebe Grey, the youngest member of the Grey family, is off to college. After years of attending all-girls' school and living under the protection of her parents and their personal security team, she's finally on her own and ready to start her life. How will her father feel about her new independence? What will he think of her falling for the campus bad-boy?
1. Freedom is a rock-hard mattress

_I do not own Fifty Shades or any of these characters,_

_All Rights go to E.L. James._

_**~ Chapter 1: Freedom is a rock-hard mattress ~**_

"Are you sure?" my father asked for the millionth time, as he peered into the dull little room. His expression had molded into something of disgust as he scans the space, his eyes widened at the sight of the outdated furniture: a bunk bed, two work desks, and two tiny dressers.

"Phoebe, this is ridiculous—"

"You promised!" I reminded him.

He furrowed his brow, "Yes, but—"

"We had a deal!"

Our deal: my impossible, arrogant, over-protective father would allow me to live in the campus residence under two conditions:

1\. The residence was girls-only (absolutely NO BOYS were allowed in my room)

2\. Welch, his personal head-of-security, was able to do a full background-check on my future room-mate. Additionally, my father needed to approve of her.

Both of which I obliged. I mean, my father would have called for a background-check anyway—there's really no stopping him there, and well, considering the fact that I've spent the past thirteen years of my life at an all-girls private school (at the request of my father, of course), I wasn't used to having boys around anyway.

"Phoebe—"

I rolled my eyes, "Dad, it's part of the college experience."

Sighing, he stepped into the room, placing the large cardboard box he held onto the floor, "Are all of these books really necessary?"

I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic comment but was cut off by my father's trite ringtone.

"Taylor?" He answered, glancing up at me before shuffling out of the room, "Yes. That's exactly it…How soon...?"

"Ignore your father," My mother finally said after my father's fragmented telephone conversation was a mere muffle in the hallway outside of my dorm room, "He's just bitter that he has to say goodbye to his little girl."

I spotted her standing in the door-way, smiling, her dark mane cascading down her shoulders-the same dark mop that framed my face. _Ignore your father_. Pssht. No point in telling _me_, I've had 18 years of practice.

I spread my arms out and threw myself down onto the bottom bunk. My body hit the yellowed mattress with a soft clunk and no bounce; I winced. _Ah_, _college life_.

"You know, all he wants is what's best for you," My mother chirped, leaning her head on the wall.

"All he wants," I snapped, still sprawled on the bed, "is to have me locked away in an ivory tower."

My mother laughed.

"Seriously," I frowned, "How does a mega entrepreneur and CEO of a leading corporation find time to shelter a girl her whole life?"

"Christian Grey…has his ways…" My mother muttered, fumbling over her words and finally biting her lips to keep further fragments from spilling out. She paused, as if mulling a thought over, "You're going to love Washington State."

I smiled, looking up at the bristle ceiling of my bottom bunk, "I hope so."

Hands appeared from behind her and wrapped themselves around my mother's waist. I glanced over from my sprawl on the bed to see my father kiss her hair.

"Christian," She hummed.

"Taylor's back, are you ready to go home?"

I could feel my mother's worried eyes on me, "The house will feel so empty with both her and Teddy away…"

"You know," My father began, still holding my mother close, "You don't _have_ to go to college-"

"Dad-"

"We have a few intern-ships that will be available in a few months-"

"Christian," my mother warned.

He sighed, letting go of my mother's waist to run a hand through his greying hair.

My mother turned to face him, "If Phoebe doesn't need help unpacking, we should probably start heading back to Seattle."

On cue, I swung my pale legs off of the bed and lifted myself up, ever-so-gracefully hitting my head on the upper bunk. _Jeez_. I rubbed my forehead.

"We haven't even left yet and she's already managed to hurt herself," My father's jaw flexed as he inhaled and exhaled sharply before addressing my mother, "One of your traits, no doubt."

My mother blushed.

"Look," I said, flattening the floral skirt of my dress down over my knees, and slowly getting up off the bed—this time weary of the bristle above me, "I'll be fine. I don't need any help setting this place up—you guys can go. I'll be fine, I swear."

My father looked hesitant.

"I'll be fine," I repeated, this time quieter.

My mother stepped towards me and wrapped me in her arms, hugging me to her chest, "We're going to miss you, angel."

I smiled, hugging her back. As she let go, my father swooped in with an embrace of his own, kissing my forehead.

"Behave," he warned.

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, yeah."

I watched my parents saunter out of my dorm room, my father's figure halting at the door-way to look back at me, "Phoebe, if you need anything else—"

"I'll be fine."

His eyes were on the chipped wooden flooring as he nodded to himself. When he finally looked back up at me again, I noticed a new softness and tenderness in his eyes.

He sighed, "Well, good luck with your studies. You know that your mother and I are a mere drive or phone call away."

I smirked, "I also know that you put a tracking device in my phone."

He mirrored my smirk, "That's my girl."

"Bye daddy."

"Goodbye, my angel."

Once alone, I smiled to myself and welcomingly inhaled the stale dorm air. I pulled my thick dark mane back into a ponytail, tying it with the thick elastic that I wore on my wrist, and made my way to the small window that looked out to a campus courtyard. I tried to open it with my full force but failed and instead left little indented marks on my palms. There was something about my attempt that made me laugh out loud.

_This is it. Freedom. At last! _My insides did somersaults and cartwheels. If the price of freedom was decade old mattresses and broken too-small windows, I was totally cool with that.

A sudden noise from the door-way made me gasp. Turning around, I found myself face-to-face with a girl with hair the colour of fire. She somehow reminded me of a lion. Maybe it was the way that her volumous mane framed her small, heart-shaped face, or maybe it was her seemingly powerful stance. Her limbs were terribly thin, and on them hung a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a black strapless top with peplum flair. A small belly-button ring was barely visible beneath the material.

"Where's the closest Starbucks?" Her voice was slightly shrill, with a valley accent, "I drove here from Victoria, and I swear I'll fall asleep if I don't get any caffeine in me."

_This was the room-mate my father had approved of? _


	2. Skinny vanilla for a skinny vanilla

_I do not own Fifty Shades,_

_All rights go to E.L. James_

_**~ Chapter 2: Skinny vanilla for a skinny vanilla~**_

So. This was my new roommate: a belly-button pierced lioness.

"Well?" She cocked her head to one side, "Starbucks?"

I snapped out of my momentary trance and opened my mouth to respond to her, only to stutter pathetically, "I-I haven't seen one around."

She furrowed her brow and pulled her phone out from her pocket. While I stood there, motionless, wondering how the hell she was able to fit anything in her pockets with jeans that tight, she must have googled the address for the closest coffee shop.

"There's one, like, five minutes from here," She said, eyes still on her phone, "Let's go grab something to drink before my parents get here with my stuff. We can get to know each other."

The lioness paused and looked up at me, phone still in hand, "Oh. I'm Jen, by the way."

"Phoebe." I responded, offering a small smile.

The two of us left the dorm, weaving between our many new neighbours as they hauled their belongings into their new rooms. I had to speed-walk to keep up with Jen; her long legs provided her with a quick strut.

"So you're from Victoria?" I tried for conversation, practically jogging beside her.

"Yeah, but I attended an all-girls boarding school in Vancouver for most of my life, so I never really spent much time in Victoria," She slowed her pace, thank god, "You?"

"I went to an all-girls school too, but I wasn't a boarder. I'm from Seattle."

Jen groaned and flicked away a loose strand of her wild, red hair that had stuck to her lip gloss, "I will never forgive my parents for doing that to me."

She inhaled, closing her eyes to welcome the fresh September air, "Today is the beginning of my life and I'm not going to be their little-miss-perfect anymore!"

I smiled and nodded, rather stupidly, unsure of what to say or do.

"Look," Jen continued, pulling at the peplum of her top, "I got my belly-button pierced this morning! How's _that_ for rebellion?"

Okay, my roommate was a little crazy. But it's all part of the _college experience_, right?

"Honestly. You can't even begin to understand how crazy sheltering my parents are," Jen huffed.

I smirked, muttering under my breath, "Trust me, I know."

The Starbucks that she took us to was three blocks away from our dorm, situated beside the school's main library. Already, students were spilling in and out of the library, eager to get ahead during frosh week. I followed Jen inside of the coffee shop, a little bell chimed welcomingly as we stepped inside the cozy interior.

As Jen and I took our place in line to order our drinks, I scanned the surroundings. The space was quaint, and not as busy as I had imagined it to be. On one side sat a couple, both had their laptops out but seemed to be in a colourful conversation. The other side was only occupied by a boy, seated in a vintage-inspired armchair. Legs crossed boyishly, he held an old tattered copy of Fitzgerald's _The Great Gatsby_ in one hand while the other was in his messy, ash-brown hair. I kept my eyes on him for a minute, noting that his attention was tied to the book.

He was handsome. _Really _handsome. So handsome, that I didn't notice my phone go off until the fourth ring. I fumbled while taking it out of my chestnut satchel.

"Hello?"

"Phoebe."

I sighed. He really couldn't leave me along for 20 minutes, could he?

"Hey dad, what's up?" No doubt that this is where he'd tell me that Taylor was to follow me to every one of my classes.

"Listen—Sawyer will be dropping off your car tomorr—"

I froze, "WHAT?"

All eyes in the coffee shop were on me, including those of Mr. Great Gatsby. Our eyes met, and I wish I could tell you that time stopped and that he put that book down and that we shared a moment, but that's not what happened. The moment wasn't shared; it was all mine: the blush, the inability to speak, the pounding in my head…or was that my heart? I didn't even know him and made me melt.

The boy smirked and continued reading.

I took a second to collect myself, gulped, and immediately changed my tone to something quieter and calmer, all the while trying not to think of the handsome boy in the armchair, "I thought we had an agreement."

I frowned. This was _so_ like my father. You would think somebody whose job depended on making deals would know how to keep one, "I don't need it. I can take the bus and campus shuttle if I need to."

I could hear my father exhaling on the other end, "Phoebe, I don't like the idea of you walking about campus. _Alone. At night_. Take the car."

"You know," I snapped, "The whole point of living on residence was to have a _normal _college experience. I don't suppose any other _normal_ college students drive brand new cars."

I remembered passing my driver's test at 16 and still not being allowed to drive due to my father's paranoia. My thoughts flashed back to a sight I had been so used to: Taylor waiting for me outside of my school, holding open the back door of the Lincoln town car.

"Phoebe-" I could hear his anger building up.

Jen was up to order her drink. She looked back at my hesitantly.

"Dad, I've got to go, we'll talk later," I muttered before hanging up and tossing my phone in my bag.

I could feel the muffled vibration of a text message from inside my bag- an angry text from my father, no doubt.

I sighed and glanced at the menu above the cashier's head. I could see Jen waiting for her order to be made at the other end of the counter.

"I'll have a grande skinny vanilla latte, please."

The cashier smirked at me as he grabbed a single classic white cup from the stack. He scribbled something on it with a permanent marker and passed it down to the other boy behind the counter.

"What's your name?" The cashier smiled, tousling his dirty blonde hair with one hand.

I raised an eyebrow, "Weren't you supposed to ask me that _before_ you wrote on my cup?"

He laughed, "There are less than ten people in this place, I don't think you'll have much trouble knowing which order is yours. Besides, I was asking out of personal interest."

Is this what boys were like when my father wasn't standing beside me and glaring at them?

"I'm Phoebe," I said, glancing to see if there was anybody behind me in line. There wasn't.

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Leo," He smiled warmly, "Look, don't worry about paying, it's on me!"

Jen stepped in from out of nowhere and grabbed my arm, proceeding to drag me away from Leo to the other end of the counter where my latte was waiting for me.

She rolled her eyes, "Seriously, I leave you alone for, like, two seconds, and you have guys buying you drinks and giving you their numbers."

I frowned and took my latte, "He bought me _coffee_ and he never gave me his number."

Jen rolled her eyes again and pointed one French-manicured finger at my latte. I turned the cup over in my hand to read the sharpie print: _Skinny vanilla for a skinny vanilla. Call me! 503 475 6738_.

My face went red and I nearly dropped the cup.

I followed Jen out of the coffee shop, hearing the same ringing of the bell triggered by the opening of the door.

"If you ask me," Jen began, taking her sunglasses out from her small shoulder bag, "The cashier wasn't even that hot."

She put her sunglasses on, tousled her big hair, and smacked her lips, "But I'd take that Gatsby guy's phone number any day."


	3. The lioness, the rich, and the wardrobe

_I do not own Fifty Shades_

_All rights go to E.L. James_

_(Author's Note: I'd really like to hear what you readers think of the story so far and if you're enjoying the style! This is my first FanFic and I'd love feedback. Thank you to all who have followed, reviewed, and favorited the story so far. You're all wonderful and I'm very grateful for you)_

_**~ Chapter 3: The lioness, the rich, and the wardrobe ~**_

Sawyer arrived with my new car the day after, which just goes to show that there's really no arguing with my father. I went along with it all, cunningly parking the red Audi TT-RS (of course, the most obnoxious of colours) in the students' underground parking and vowing to only use it when really and truly necessary; I didn't want to be the freakishly-rich kid again. Besides, it was for my own good too—I didn't want to get attached.

Jen didn't end up being all that bad. A little crazy, _yes_, but bad, _not really_. Actually, after our first day together, we didn't get many chances to see each other at all. Jen was always out the door before I was even up, eagerly attending every frosh week event while I, well, to be frank, avoided them at all costs; I'm not too big on organized social activities. I spent most of the week nestled between blankets, a book in hand, frequently going for walks about campus, consciously inhaling the fresh Washington air.

It wasn't until the Saturday before classes began that Jen and I hung out again.

"What are you doing?" Jen stood at the door of our dorm, her small hands on her hips showing disapproval of my current activity: aka. Reading: often known as _'avoiding crowds and loud noises'_.

"You're back early," I noted, looking down at my one-of-a-kind Daniel Wellington watch—a graduation present from my mother. 10:11. Jen was usually out past midnight.

I frowned, sitting up on the bottom bunk, and, of course, whacking my head on the bristle bottom of the top bunk. Goddamn it. I was definitely going to leave college with a permanently bruised forehead.

Jen stifled a giggle and rolled her eyes, "Phoebe, it's _club night_."

She said it like that too. As if it was supposed to mean something to me. I stayed silent, waiting for further explanation.

She sighed in exasperation and walked over to her dresser. She began rummaging through her clothes, throwing aside all kinds of sequined and sparkly pieces. I watched in curiosity, quietly trying to guess how each piece was supposed to be worn while it flew past me onto my bed.

"You're coming out tonight," Jen said confidently, turning to me and throwing a fiery strand of hair out of her eyes, "I mean it, Phoebe. I'm not going to let you waste away here all week!"

I laughed. Did she think that she was doing me _a favour_?

"Jen," I said, a little more seriously, nervousness evident in my tone, "I really don't think this is a good idea. I've never been to a club before."

Jen grinned, "Me neither! More reason to go!" She turned back around to her dresser and continued rummaging, finally stopping when pulling out a black, backless, long-sleeve bodycon dress.

"_This_," She said pronouncing every phoneme with fervour, while holding up the cotton-spandex dress, "_This_ is for you."

She threw the dress at me and it hit my face before falling into a limp pile in my hands. I stood up and held it to my small frame. It looked too small, but then again, it was a spandex material and Jen was a good half foot taller than me.

I sighed and pulled my baby-blue oxford button-down over my head, slipped out of my regular wash skinny jeans and proceeded to squeeze into the dress. It gave my usual pencil-like figure a curvaceous look. For once, I looked like a woman.

"I knew it," Jen said proudly, turning back to her dresser to find something for herself, "If you're going hard, just please don't puke on it."

_Going hard_. I nearly choked on my own spit.

I let Jen curl my hair so that it fell in long, loose, waves, and patiently allowed her to apply make-up on me- she opted for something a little more natural looking than what she had originally intended due to my voiced discontent with heavy make-up. I slipped into the only heels that I had brought to college with me, a pair of classic, black, pointed-toe Manolo Blahniks—my go-to shoes for all of the dull events and galas my parents drag me to. I desperately tried my best to hide the expensive label from Jen.

I gasped, looking at myself in the mirror. As a final product, I looked nothing like my usual self. Maybe that was a good thing.

Jen wore a strapless, red bodycon dress, which, surprisingly, didn't clash with her vibrant locks as much as I thought it would. Her green eyes bordered smoky grey eye-shadow which I had watched her apply artfully. Once ready, we began scrounging our small dorm for belongings to take with us.

"P-MILK," Jen said, matter-of-factly.

I frowned in confusion, "What?"

"P-MILK," She repeated, rolling her eyes, "phone, money, ID, lip-gloss, keys."

"Oh," I mouthed, grabbing my phone and putting it in my bag. I paused. _On second thought_…I took my cell out of my clutch and tossed it on my bed. The last thing I needed was my father tracing my location to a club.

"Jen, we're under-age, what if we don't get in?" _Or worse, get into trouble._

Jen rolled her smoky eyes, "Phoebe, _we're hot_. They have to let us in."

Is this how the world worked?

After the two of us had grabbed all of our necessary belongings, we headed out the door. Jen walked a few feet ahead of me, of course, her long legs looking like those of a gazelle in her 6-inch heels. She sort of reminded me of Bambi in the sense that I thought she would fall over with every step, her heels swaying and shaking with her lack of stability.

"I'll call the cab," She said as we stood just inside of the residence front doors, She rummaged through her bag for her blackberry, her red hair wild.

"Actually," I began in hesitance, twiddling my fingers nervously, "I could just drive us there."

Jen paused and turned around to face me, "You have a car?" Her tone was that of disbelief.

"Umm…yeah," I could feel myself sweating.

She raised one of her perfectly filled-in eyebrows, "Are you sure you want to drive? You won't be able to drink."

In my head, I high-fived myself: what a perfect excuse.

I shrugged, "That's alright, I'm not a big drinker anyway."

Jen nodded and zipped up her shoulder bag.

We walked over to the underground parking lot, about two minutes walking distance from our residence-five minutes in heels. Jen's eyes widened at the sight of my car. The two-door Audi was sleek with a luxurious leather interior—not your ordinary student's car.

"_This_ is your car?" Jen's eyes bulged as she caressed the front hood. The red paint sparkled. I sighed. It really was a beautiful car, what a shame that I had to hide it.

"Uh. Yeah," I said a little too quickly, unlocking the doors and stepping inside, conscious of the length of my dress.

Jen climbed into the seat beside me, still in awe, her eyes took in the interior, "Seriously, what do your parents do?"

_Well, if you want the truth, they legally stalk me—or pay people to do it for them, send me obnoxious gifts that I never asked for, and disallow me to get anywhere within twenty feet of a boy my own age. And that's just the start…_

"My dad's in business," I started up the car.

"Is your father Donald Trump?" Jen asked rhetorically, huffing and crossing her arms.

"Uh, not quite," I veered out of the parking lot, the Audi purred, "He owns a coffee shop." _Worst lie ever_. I mentally slapped myself.

Jen raised an eyebrow at me.

"Okay," I tried again, my eyes on the road before me, "He owns a very successful coffee shop chain." I stifled a laugh as I imagined the all-mighty Christian Grey as the owner of Dunkin' Donuts.

That seemed to have worked; Jen sat back in her seat, a look of content on her face, and began directing my driving to the club.

I pulled into the nearest parking lot, and somehow managed to find a decent parking space with ease. The two of us hopped out of the car and swiftly trotted to the front door of the club, where a long line of eager college students waited for admission.

"This is going to take forever," Jen huffed in frustration, peering over the heads of the group of girls in front of us, to the front of the line.

She sighed and turned to me, "Wait here." And before I could stop her, she was walking past the many groups of students in front of us and straight to the two bouncers.

I caught the eyes of a few guys walking by the line-up and quickly averted my gaze, crossing my arms over my chest in unease and obvious discomfort. They hooted and whistled at me anyway. Was going out supposed to be _fun_?

Jen returned within a couple of minutes, a new bounce to her walk, "It's cool," She said, flipping her mane, "Gerard said we can skip the line."

"Gerard?" I questioned.

"I hooked up with one of the bouncers third day of frosh week," She explained with a shrug, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along to the front of the line.

The two bouncers motioned for us to step inside.


	4. The Great Gatsby

_I do not own Fifty Shades_

_All rights go to E.L. James_

**~ Chapter 4: The Great Gatsby ~**

A large neon sign spelling '_Gatsby_' was hung above the doorway that led to the main dance-floor, and I concluded that it was the name of the club that we were at. I immediately thought of the attractive boy that had been lounging at Starbucks earlier this week, and blushed. Thank god that the lighting in this place was so dim- my face was the colour of Jen's hair.

The doorway leading to the main bar and dancefloor was framed with two heavy, red, stage curtains that immediately gave the venue dramatic early 20th century flair. Jen and I stepped through the arch and gasped. The venue was dim, with cool blue lighting. The industrial brick walls and marvelous glass chandeliers gave the location a true 1920s vibe, making it feel as if we were at a speakeasy. The only modern features seemed to be the DJ booth, the top-40 playlist, and the casual style of the people inside. _'Gatsby' _was definitely an appropriate name.

Jen curled her manicured fingers around my wrist as we weaved through the crowds of students to the bar, muttering quick apologies as we squeezed between groups.

I watched my roommate heave a sigh as she threw her arms down onto the bar in exasperation, one hand quickly moving to fluff her already volumous mane. A handsome bartender, most likely a few years older than Jen and I moved towards us with a _Colgate_ smile. He was tall and just bald with a dark complexion, his fitted black shirt emphasized his muscular arms. I couldn't help but blush.

Jen smiled wryly.

"Can I get a double shot vodka cranberry and…" She turned to me, cuing that I order.

"Oh," I stammered, leaning closer to the handsome bartender before us, "I'll just have a lemonade, please."

Jen gave me a dumbfound look.

"Jen, _I'm driving_," I reminded her sternly.

"Fine," she agreed, digging through her shoulder bag for the spare cash she had tossed in earlier, "It's on me."

At first, I hesitated—my parents had given me enough money to be able to pay for the entire university's drinks—but then I smiled and thanked Jen, happy with my new camouflage: middle-class normality. I watched as Jen handed over a couple of scrunched up bills to the bartender. They exchanged a few words here and there as well, but the loud volume of the music prohibited me from hearing.

I turned one side away from the bar to catch a better glimpse of the atmosphere. Every booth that traced the outline of the club was full; the dancefloor was equally packed with bodies. Everywhere, everyone was laughing, singing along, dancing to the music, and sipping on various drinks. The DJ danced along to his tracks enthusiastically, an intoxicated girl on either side of him. I smirked. Never in a million years would I have expected myself to be here.

I shrill scream from beside me caught my attention and I jerked my head to the source to find Jen scrambling in her heels, drink in hand, to embrace a group of girls. They pulled her away to the dancefloor, all giddy and drunk on the last school-free night.

I sighed and turned back to where my tall glass of lemonade was waiting for me, thanking the bartender and doubting that he heard my small voice over the blaring 90's throwback that the DJ was playing. Taking a small sip off the bar counter, I turned around again to realize that Jen's fiery hair was nowhere in sight. _Maybe she had gone to the restroom_, I thought logically.

_Or maybe she had been kidnapped by the Russian mob and was being sold into the sex-trade_.

I bit my lip.

"Hey," A voice came from beside me. I turned to find myself standing next to a tall, blonde, boy. His features were sharp, her eyes a pool of green.

He fixed his posture so that one of his arms rested on the bar counter while the other one slid along my waist. I froze, my eyes on the arm around me.

"What are you doing at the bar all alone?" He asked, coyly, a smirk on his tanned face.

I inhaled and confidently plucked his hand from my waist, "I'm, uh, waiting for my friend to get back."

He ignored my obvious disinterest, "Oh yeah? Where's your friend?"

_Hell if I know_, I wanted to say, suddenly upset with my roommate for leaving me.

I knew that I needed to keep my composure. I couldn't let this creep think that he was intimidating me. Even though he was. _A lot_.

"She's gone to the restroom," I said, my voice shaking.

He began to lean in. I panicked, instinctively grabbing the glass of lemonade from the counter to sip on, and strategically hold between us. I took a long sip, and would have finished the drink if I hadn't dropped the glass in shock.

The blonde boy before me had been knocked down to the ground by another body in a blur, and before I knew it, a crowd had begun to circle the two boys rolling about on the ground. I watched, still in shock, as fists flew from both boys, gasping as they rolled closer to the shattered broken pieces of glass that once held my lemonade. Blondey was still on the ground writhing in pain when the other boy had stood up, exhaling in exasperation and dusting off his pants. He turned his head to look at me and my stomach dropped. It was the Gatsby boy from the Starbucks. I stood in awe, watching him run a hand through his ash brown hair, frowning. Had I willed him into being here when I thought about him earlier?

"You need to get out of here _now_," he demanded, "Where's that redhead you were with a minute ago?"

Ugh, this again. I looked down at my palms before gathering the courage to look up at the handsome boy standing close to me, "I think she's in the restroom."

He closed his eyes, sighing in frustration. Meanwhile, Blondey was getting up off the ground, his anger evident in his tightly closed fists.

I screamed as Blondey threw a punch at Gatsby, Gatsby quickly ducking out of the way, Blondey's fist ramming the bar counter. He yowled in pain.

"YOU THREE," A voice cut through the music, "OUT. NOW."

Blondey, Gatsby, and I turned to find ourselves face-to-face with a hulk of a security guard, his bulging muscles and impressive height warning us all that we'd better comply.

I gulped. I couldn't leave; I was Jen's drive back to the dorm! My body suddenly began to feel very hot, and I felt a new heaviness to my eyelids. How was this all happening? How did I get myself into this?

"NOW," The security guard repeated, making me shudder. From behind him stepped forward two other security guards, both great in size, who forcefully shuffled the three of us out of the club. I tried to scan the dancefloor for Jen as one of the guards dragged me by the elbow towards the exit, but my head felt heavy. I needed to lie down; perhaps I was still in a form of shock.

Blondey squirmed from the other security guard's grip, "Don't touch me! That guy started it!" Nobody acknowledged his outcries.

The Security Guards effortlessly tossed us out of the venue—Blondey a little more harshly, throwing the boy with more force—and turned to walk back inside of the club, leaving the three of us outside, alone in an alleyway between the club and a warehouse of some sort.

Blondey huffed at the two of us and took out his cell phone, dialing a number and making a call while quickly pacing towards the entrance of the alley where a main street was just visible.

Gatsby turned to me, sighing, "I saw him put something in your drink."

That would explain his tackle. _That would also explain my current physical state._

_Oh god, my dad would kill me if he ever found out,_ I thought, leaning against the side of the club for support. My head throbbed. My knees shock like my confidence. I felt myself slowly slipping out of consciousness. My will-power battled my concrete eyelids; I was determined to stay awake. I needed to find Jen. I needed to get us both home. I needed…I needed to…

"Hey," Gatsby was at my side, holding me for support. His words were hazy, shrouded in fog, I could barely make out what he was saying, "Where's your phone? Maybe…can…try…your friend…Hey…got to…conscious…can…hear me…?"

I gave into the throbbing and let my body and mind fall limp.


	5. Under his thumb

_I do not own Fifty Shades_

_All rights go to E.L. James_

**~ Chapter 5: Under his thumb ~**

I yawned fiercely, turning to my other side on the bed. I always relished those few minutes of half-sleep where one was conscious, yet still weary and unable to force themselves out of bed. I tried to recollect occurrences from the night before, frowning in my half-sleep and flopping over on my back.

"_The difference in the clothes she wears, down to me…"_

Was that…Mick Jagger? I paused. My eyelashes fluttered open at the sound of The Rolling Stones' _Under My Thumb_ playing lightly. I was looking up at a tall ceiling where a small sky-light invited soft rays of light to pour into the room, causing me to squint. Two walls were of the same crimson brick as the club that—

I sat up in the large bed of light-grey sheets in one quick motion. The club—how could I forget? I pressed my memory, frantically trying to piece the night together: Okay, so I drove Jen and I there, there was something about her hooking up with the bouncer, I ordered a lemonade, the bartender was really cute…_okay, I guess that detail wasn't too important_...wait…Gatsby was there! The terribly handsome boy from the Starbucks! There was a fight…I remember something about a fight…who fought…?

Wait. Where was I?! I lifted the cover off of my body to peak at what I was wearing and gasped, immediately letting go of the sheet. Jen's bodycon dress no longer hugged the curves of my body, instead, I found myself wearing a WSU long-sleeved maroon shirt and too-big light-grey joggers.

My head turned for a full view of the space from the bed. I appeared to be in some sort of industrial loft—an old garage perhaps that's been renovated into an apartment. The bed and the two black nightstands beside it were on an elevated platform that acted as a second floor—I imagined that the clear modern fence around the platform prevented accidents from occurring. Past the sky-light, about ten plain lightbulbs hung from the high ceiling on long black wires, keeping to the industrial theme of the apartment.

I slowly pushed the heavy covers off of my body and stepped onto the hardwood floor.

Okay: I had no idea where I was, I had no idea whose clothes I was wearing, I had no idea what happened the night before. It took me everything not to cry from shame; I've been on my own for less than a week and I've already managed to get myself into trouble.

I tiptoed down the spiral stair-case to the main floor, pulling my messy hair into a bun with the elastic on my wrist. Mick Jagger's cooing became louder and more prominent. I found myself in the living room area of the loft where enormous bookshelves covered two whole walls. The leather couch, coffee table, television, and entertainment system did nothing in making the large space look occupied; the tall walls and high ceilings gave the apartment a definitively empty look. I found myself liking it, I felt so small.

I ventured further, to the bend where the music was coming from, peeking my head around a corner. I gasped and flushed brick-red. There, _right there_—in front of me—stood Gatsby: messy ash-hair, prominent jawline, dark eyes, and all. The bend seemed to lead to the kitchen which also followed the same industrial theme as the rest of the house. He was seated at one of the three iron bar stools at the long kitchen island, only wearing a pair of loose grey sweats, skimming through the Seattle Times.

He looked up from the newspapers and smirked, "Good morning."

My stomach cartwheeled. Did I sleep with him?! Oh god, oh god, oh god…

He must've noticed the mortifying shade of my face and the tenseness of my body. He clarified, "I slept on the couch."

I exhaled, stepping nearer to the kitchen island. He motioned for me to have a seat on one of the stools and I obliged. Still in unease about what was going on, I watched him close the Seattle Times and step off the stool, nearing the grand silver refrigerator. _Those. Abs_. My grey eyes widened. It was as if his body was sculpted by an artist, perfectly planned and perfectly chiseled out. I tried to keep my eyes from the obvious V line just visible above the line of his sweats.

"Don't worry, I'll fill you in on last night as I guess you don't remember much, but it would probably be a good idea to get some food in you first. Would you be okay with an omelette?"

I nodded sheepishly, averting my eyes from his body, as he opened the fridge and began rummaging through for the necessary ingredients. He pulled out a couple of eggs, green onions, red peppers, mushrooms, and grated cheese before shutting the door. As he diced the onions, peppers, and mushroom on the island, he glanced up at me.

_Under My Thumb_ came to its classic finish as _Sympathy for the Devil_ began playing, Mick Jagger's voice picking up where it left off.

"You're not much of a talker are you?"

I blinked, "To be fair, I've been at Washington State for less than a week and I've just woken up in a stranger's house—presumably wearing _his_ clothes—after a night that I can't seem to remember."

He was smiling, looking down at the vegetables as he continued to cut them in perfect little squares, "_Stranger_." He mulled over the word, trying it out.

There was something so boyish about him that was evidently part of his charm. Maybe it was the lop-sided smirks or maybe it was the hair that, every now and then, fell into his eyes. I tried my best to keep my composure. I seemed to be doing well.

"Yes, stranger," I straightened my back, proud of my sudden confidence, "I don't even know your name."

He stopped cutting abruptly and looked up at me, his brown eyes on my grey eyes. Suddenly every shard of confidence that I had managed to configure into mock poise and self-assurance escaped me and I was left feeling vulnerable and weak. I was conscious of my legs shaking. I was conscious of my heart shaking. One look. _One freaking look_.

"It's Daniel," He spoke sincerely, his voice caressing me before the smirk was back and his eyes and attention were on the vegetables again, "But I've recently become known as Gatsby."

I gasped. I must have said something last night…_idiot_. I mentally slapped myself.

He moved to the stove where he cracked a few eggs into the pan, his back towards me, "I suppose that your little nickname for me is in reference to my current read."

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? If so, I needed to see a doctor_ immediately_.

"Um, yeah," I stammered, "I, uh, noticed you reading it at the coffee shop a few days ago. Good book." _Good book. Good book_? I winced at the sound of my own stupidity. I sounded like an idiot.

"Yeah," he said and I could feel him smiling even as he was facing away from me, "It is a good book."

Daniel turned back to the island counter to grab the veggies, he nonchalantly tossed a sliced mushroom in his mouth, smirking at me, "Tell me, shouldn't _I_ be a little concerned? Here I am—a Good Samaritan—letting a _stranger_ sleep over when I don't even know her name!" He put emphasis on the word 'stranger.'

"I'm Phoebe," I said, narrowing my eyes at his mockery.

"Phoebe," He repeated, smiling, "Like Phoebe the titan in ancient Greek mythology?"

"Like Phoebe the outlandish _Friends_ character," I countered.

He laughed and turned back to the stove, tossing in the veggies and sprinkling the omelette with pre-grated cheese, "So you're in your first year?"

"How did you know?" Most people praised my maturity.

Daniel shrugged, "We have this saying around campus: _Gatsby is the mistake all first years will make_. It's a really sleazy bar, all upper year students know better than to go out to Gatsby."

I frowned and crossed my arms, "Then what were you doing there?"

He sighed, using the spatula to pry the omelette from the pan and onto two separate plates, "A few of my friends dragged me out to that place. It's our first weekend back on campus together. Trust me, if it was up to me, we would've gone out to a place much less…loud—In every aspect."

He seemed so easy-going, yet he was still intimidating. I couldn't pin down why exactly—perhaps it was his confidence. Or his abs.

"Which reminds me," he began, handing me a plate and a fork while slowly pacing to my side of the kitchen island, "That redhead doesn't seem to be much of a good friend, leaving you alone in place like that."

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to make any judgements before talking to Jen about it later today. I cut off a piece of the omelette and stuck it in my mouth. It was actually quite good, and reminded me of Mrs. Taylor's cooking back home in Seattle.

"I know you don't like to hear that, but you need to learn how to take care of yourself. Who knows what that blonde creep was capable of," He added, aggressively cutting off a piece of omelette with the side of his fork.

I turned to Daniel, "blonde creep…?"

He sighed, "I was at the other end of the bar and noticed the guy talking to you slip something in your drink."

I dropped my fork.

Daniel continued, not looking up at me, "So I…confronted him—physically—and the three of us ended up getting kicked out. You passed out on me while we were outside, and—I'm sorry for this—I looked through your bag trying to find your phone hoping to call someone who would know your address."

My face went white as I remembered purposely leaving my phone behind in my dorm. Even my seemingly good ideas were bad.

Daniel sighed again, "I couldn't find your phone so I brought you back here, changed you into more comfortable clothing, and lay you down on my bed."

My face went from white to red in mere seconds as I tried to recall what underwear I was wearing—what underwear he had seen. Okay—a black lace bra with matching lace hipster underwear—it could've been worse.

"Um," I began, not even knowing where to start, "I left my phone at home."

I shoved the last piece of omelette in my mouth and got up, moving towards the sink in order to wash my dish. Daniel was at my side in seconds, taking the plate from my hand and smirking at me.

"The washroom is beside the bookshelves, you left your stuff there last night while you were barely conscious," He took both of the plates to the sink and gently rinsed them, "I'll give you a second to get ready while I wash the dishes and change, then I can drive you back to your place."

My car! It was still at the club! After a minute of trying to figure out what to do, I decided it would be best to let Daniel drive me back to the dorm and then pay for a cab to my car later in the day.

I sauntered over the washroom and found last night's dress , heels, and bag folded neatly on the side of the counter by the sink. The mirror showed me an image of a skinny girl with messy hair, dark strands loosely escaping the hold of the hair tie. Soft prints of mascara were dotted on my cheek and beneath my lower lashes. I did not look effortless. I did not look cute. I looked like a mess.

Sighing to myself, I rinsed my face, causing it to turn a pinkish colour from the cold and dried it with one of the small towels hung beside the sink. I paused. It smelt good—perhaps of cologne—perhaps of _him_.

"Are you ready to go?" I heard Daniel call.

In one quick motion, I hooked the towel back where it was hung and dashed out of the bathroom, clutching my dress, heels, and handbag. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of him in the living room. His hair was still messy, but now he sported a grey fitted T-shirt, dark rinse jeans, and chocolate brown deck shoes.

I looked down at the dress in my hand, maybe I should've put it on and—

"Don't worry about my clothes," He said, referring to the WSU shirt and joggers as if reading my mind, "You can always give them back another time."

I slipped on my heels and chuckled to myself. Not exactly an outfit my family's personal shopper would admire—but then again, Caroline Acton loathed all of my casual outfits anyway.

Walking out the front door of his loft, I had noticed that I was right; it was a sort of garage at one point. Beside his industrial building was a small parking lot where only three cars were parked, one of which belonged to him. Daniel drove a humble Nissan, the model was definitely more than a couple years old, though it still held a charm.

We drove without playing music as I gave him directions from the main street to the dorm though he seemed to know where it was without my help. I sighed as the car slowed to a stop at the front door of the residence.

"Thank you. For everything," I said, undoing my seatbelt.

He gave me one last smirk, "Stay out of trouble."

**Author's Note: Thank you for the follows/reviews/favs thus far! I gratefully appreciate each and every one of them, they really fuel my desire to continue this story!**


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